


I Choose to Love You in my Loneliness

by dragonsbreathefire02



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Feels, M/M, POV Laurent, epiphany? sort of?, laurent has thoughts, that part in kings rising when they first arrive at marlas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsbreathefire02/pseuds/dragonsbreathefire02
Summary: They were introduced to household officials and ushered into the viewing hall.And Laurent saw Damianos freeze.The hall held two-dozen slaves, all kneeling on the floor towards them. All wore silks in the style of northern Akielon, and he repressed the urge to curl his lips as he saw the paint decorating them, and the collars around their throats.Yet he had not minded either on Damianos.(Or: Distance shields us both from pain.)





	I Choose to Love You in my Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by this poem: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ec/3f/13/ec3f13864917fe22322bfa3467728f59.jpg

Laurent couldn’t stop the sharp flow of memories as Marlas came into view. Sharp, because they brought with them feelings of pain and grief and again he could see Auguste, his lifeblood seeping into the ground that Laurent now walked on with his brother’s killer. Damianos. The name was bitter just in his thoughts. And yet…

 _Damen._

Sharp, because he had been forgetting. Had been allowing himself to forget what the man beside him had done, because nowhere in the King of Akielos’ face could he find the man that had killed his brother. Nowhere could he find the man he had pictured, had built to be Damianos, before he had know him – really known him - for who he was; utterly loyal, strong and steadfast, honourable to a fault, dependable, ridiculously trusting… and gentle, so gentle, with those he loved.  
He could see him out of the corner of his eye; tall, muscular, as finely sculpted as a statue. Striding in step with Laurent, his black curls swept across his forehead and his eyes - dark as a starless night - shuttered, no feelings showing through them. Maybe lost in memories, too.

 _Damen._

Damen’s name was sweet.  
And it was that realisation, that and other traitorous thoughts that had Laurent ignoring the Akielon king as thoroughly as he could. And Laurent could be quite thorough.  
Because for all that Damianos had done, that Laurent missed him, that Laurent found himself yearning for a look, a glance, was… was -  
He quickly and efficiently cut off his train of thought, as they passed through Akielon guards, and were met by Akielon people, every one eager to see their King, to meet him and please him. The people loved Damianos, and Laurent could not blame them for it.  
They were introduced to household officials and ushered into the viewing hall.  
And Laurent saw Damianos freeze.  
The hall held two-dozen slaves, all kneeling on the floor towards them. All wore silks in the style of northern Akielon, and he repressed the urge to curl his lips as he saw the paint decorating them, and the collars around their throats.  
Yet he had not minded either on Damianos. 

_Damen._

_I miss you._

Nikandros was frowning. “The King has already made his preference for no slaves known.”  
And Laurent knew why. But he couldn’t help remembering Damen’s words.  
_“Laurent, I am your slave,”_ he had said. But Damen had never belonged to him.  
Damen had never belonged to anyone.  
The slave master was speaking. “These slaves are provided for the use of our King’s guest, the Prince of Vere.” He said, and bowed.  
Laurent scanned the slaves. It would be rude of him to refuse, so he might as well choose one to his taste. They were all men, he observed as his eyes wandered the sea of heads. Probably out of respect to Veretian customs.  
His gaze wandered over the slaves, and was drawn to the third bowed head on the left. The slave had black curls and olive skin. Laurent stepped forward, too aware of Damen’s eyes upon him.  
“I like that one.”  
“An excellent choice,” The slave keeper said. He sounded pleased. “Isander, step forward.”  
When the slave raised his head, Laurent saw that he had eyes as dark as a starless night.  
Laurent’s chest hurt.  
The King of Akielos would never belong to anybody.  
_What are you thinking?_ Laurent mentally chided himself. _He is the man who killed Auguste, the man who deserves to die –_  
_And who has done so much for you,_ another voice within him replied. _He has been there for you when he did not owe you anything. He has helped and supported you when you were alone._

_But he is Damianos -_

And yet.  
He is also Damen. 

Alive because his brother was dead, but -  
_Damen.  
Oh Damen._


End file.
